


In The Godswood

by Nabila



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Conversation, F/M, Godswood, Smut, based on the second trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-18 05:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11284677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabila/pseuds/Nabila
Summary: Sansa and Jon meet in the Godswood after Jon's decision to ride South





	1. Chapter 1

It was the coldest morning Winterfell had ever had to endure since Winter had cast itself upon them. Sansa sensed the change of weather when she woke up at dawn, buried down in the furs of her bed she felt the ice insinuating deep in her bones. No fire, no woolen dress, nor countless furs around her body would dissipate the piecing cold under her skin.

She had missed the crisp weather of her home, the fresh, wintry air gliding over her body during her daily activites, the warming furs embracing her at night as the hearth would spread heat across her chamber.

Yet she had never experienced the sharp Winter of the North. ‘Winter is Coming’ her father used to promise them, and Winter had come, Winter was there and the deadly cold brought along with it.

That morning, she lazily slipped out of her chamber in her woolen dress and her coat, heading outside of the Castle.

Frost crystals eased down on the leaves still hanging on the trees, the squeak sound of her steps treading on the white snow that was covering the turf of Winterfell’s Godswood, the stinging pain of the harsh winds blowing on her face.

‘Winter is here’ She reminded herself once again ‘and with it the dreaded war against the dead’. The war that was almost upon them, the great war Jon warned would come for them.

She reached a grove at the center of the wood, where a weirdwood tree were brooding over the now frozen black pool.

Jon was seated on a stone under the dense canopy woven by the branches of the ancient tree. He was exactly where her father used to sit in solitude; Jon, the brother who resembled the most their father was sitting exactly like Ned Stark would. Sansa quietly approached him and stood a few inches beside him. He lifted his gaze and smiled “Sansa”

“when will you leave?” she wasn’t going to converse normally with Jon, he had summoned her to talk privately about important matters and Sansa had all the intentions to strictly talk about his departure.

“in a week” his words dry “I wish I didn’t have to leave you” his features sullen, dreary. The smile he showed seconds ago had disappeared.

“we’ve discussed it at the council. The decision has been made.” she sternly stated without a hint of grimace on her face

He contemplated her words, scrutinized her stoic face for a while and then he spoke “You don’t approve though, do you?”

Her mouth barely agape, a faint sigh escaped “It is what you have to do for the North, I trust your judgement in going south to propose this new Queen an alliance, your Grace”

“Jon” he angrily corrected her “do not call me titles. I’m Jon to you and always will be”

She didn’t flinch at his vexation, nor nodded at his statement. She simply looked down on him as his expression softened “If you have any concern about Winterfell, you have nothing to fear. I will rule in your stead”

“It is not our home I’m concerned about. I know you will rule wisely” he stood up and ambled towards her. His eyes tired, his demeanor sloucher than usual, his voice more gruff.

He had lied awake all night in his chamber awaiting for the first light of the day to head towards the Godswood and wait for his sister. He was the one who had asked her to meet him in private, for no one to see them nor hear them, nonetheless the moment he heard her footsteps, the cold in his bones faded away, replaced with sudden warmth, his limbs searing, his blood pumping faster in his veins.

She raised her head to look at him as he was now standing, her deep blue eyes were impenetrable stone, whereas Jon’s dark grey eyes were fire “what is it, Jon?”

“Do you wish me to stay with you?” he asked. No, he didn’t ask. He implored with his own eyes to ask him to stay. He wanted to stay with her in Winterfell. The home they had fought for and almost died for.

“You have to ride South. You need this Queen’s dragons, you need her support”

“that is not my question” he gently took her hand and commenced to caress it with his thumb with circular moves

“this is the only answer you will have from me. What else do you expect Jon?” he felt the first sign of uneasiness in her, hesitation in her words.

“Everything. Anything” he whispered “We’re alone in here, Sansa.” his gaze fixated on hers, bore into hers, penetrating into hers and she swore, for a moment, she got a glimpse of fire in them, a spark quickly spreading, illuminating his dark eyes

She averted her eyes from his in fear he would peer through her and see the truth eventually “I’m afraid I cannot give you what you’re seeking”

He brought her hand to his lips, closed his eyes and pecked the top of it “I’m not asking what you can or cannot grant me” he murmured between those kisses of veneration

“I don’t want to give you what you’re seeking. I could. No one is around, everyone is still asleep, but your desire is not my wish” she stepped back, sliding out of his hands’s grip “I am sorry, Jon”

His heart sank. The woman who had restored in him the will and the strength to fight, the woman who made him feel alive again, the woman who made him love again, was now dismissing him. And he knew in his heart the reason why.

“Will you marry him?” he asked looking down at his own feet

“I have yet to decide. For the time being I will rule Winterfell, when you will be back, I will inform you about my decision.”

She drew closer to him and hastily kissed him on the cheek. She avoided any further prolonged physical contact with him, as if his skin would burn hers, as if her lie would surface.

She hurriedly pivoted and walked away from him, forcing herself not to look back “I will pray for you, my brother” she swallowed, took a deep breath to contain the tears that were on the verge to fall.

_‘you have to be strong, Sansa. It is for his own good’_


	2. Chapter 2

Six moons passed since Jon rode out of Winterfell’s gates and set forth alongside Ser Davos and part of their army to reach Daenerys Targaryen and her fleet at Dragonstone. Sansa ruled in his stead as she had promised him during the freezing morning that had concluded as their final goodbye.

Neither of them sent ravens, neither of them ever wrote a single letter; they established a thousand mile long silence between them, a silence built on guilt and regret as a result of - as Sansa had been ruminating on for the rest of his absence - their stubbornness and persistent, unrelenting aptitude to protect one another. And for Sansa, that flair for protection, along with her self-preservation, included a painful lie she would repent for the rest of her life.

The day Jon left on his horse, he threw a glance behind his shoulder to look up at Sansa one last time and capture her royal beauty in his mind, afraid he would forget her sinuous, delicate figure. But the truth was, he was afraid he would never return to Winterfell and if he had to die again, he wanted to remember her in all of her details - from the embroidery of her Stark dress, to her black, leather gloves perfectly fitting her tapered hands; from her porcelain skin to her deep, vivid blue eyes and her auburn hair elegantly cascading over her shoulders. He framed her lest he was going to inhale his last breath anew.

As he timidly waved goodbye to her, she stoically stood next to Petyr Bealish. Not a smile, nor a hint of a single tear perspired from her features as the man by her side spoke words in her ear with a smug grin on his lips and one hand laid upon her waist. Jon clenched his jaw and grabbed the reins of his horse tighter to halt himself from making a mistake Sansa would never forgive him for, aware he did not have a second chance after the attack in the crypts, when Baelish dared to ask for his sister’s hand and was shoved against the wall as a threat. It was Sansa who stopped him from chocking the life out of Littlefinger, visibly angered by his hotheadedness.

So, he contained himself from doing anymore harm and left the spectacle behind his shoulders.

Days, weeks, moons Sansa spent with Lord Bealish by her side, whispering in her ears subtle words of betrayal that echoed in her mind as he seized on her loneliness amongst the walls of her home; a leverage used on her to set free that hidden wish to be claimed Queen. Sansa Stark, the rightful heir of Eddard and Catelyn Stark; she who shall be named Queen in the North, not the bastard son of a tavern slut - or at least those were the man’s thoughts.

She allowed him to believe he had succeeded into his task, she allowed him to believe she was his. And that thought to become his sent her shivers of disgust along her spine. She had to let him believe though, playing his own game was what he had taught to her and that was the same game he would be defeated with eventually.

 

A windy and foggy night it was when Arya Stark returned on her saddled horse; a few nights later Bran appeared at the gates accompanied by Meera Reed.  
Her long lost siblings were home, distraught, grown up, marked by the inner wounds of those years away from Winterfell and from everyone, dispersed in places where they only encountered pain and death. Their eyes, as much as hers, showed the dramatic change that they had to endure throughout the years, each one of them had stories of survival to tell and tales of horror to keep in the maze of their broken hearts. They were not the same kids they used to be when their whole family was still alive and Winterfell was not the home they used to live in when they played as children. It was home nonetheless.

And home became a much more familiar and comfortable place to be in along with her siblings, until Perty Baelish determined he had to pit Sansa against them, for the Starks at Winterfell were becoming a much greater threat than he had expected. For his own gain, he started to manipulate Sansa into thinking that her family, the one she knew when she was a little girl, no longer existed; she was the Queen, the one who had taken back their home, why should Bran Stark steal that away from her in the event of Jon Snow's possible future death? he was a poor crippled boy she last saw when he was 10, with no knowledge, nor experience in ruling a land he did not know anymore. And Arya, who only learned to be a skilled killer, what good could she provide to her reign other than stain the honorable name of House Stark? The little sister she used to squabble with had turned into a ferocious murderer who'd slit anyone's throat in their sleep and that was not the Stark way.

What Lord Bealish didn’t realize was that she had gotten better in that game of his, she had become more skilled and cunning. If he deemed to be able to alienate the last Starks remained, he was a fool then. And a fool he was, indeed.

He underestimated her Stark side, he overestimated his control and power over her mind, the very mind he had rightfully suggested to use for her own fights. Sadly, he never realized her now inner battle was against him and not her own blood. They all were different, changed and damaged to their bones, nonetheless a family bound by blood, wolves that would survive together the long winter and the war that was coming with it; and he, Petyr Bealish, was no part of their pack.

A fortnight prior to Jon’s return, Arya put a knife on Littlefinger's throat just like he had done with her father in King's Landing, a harsh truth Bran revealed to both Arya and Sansa after one of his visions

"You know what my father used to tell us when we were children, Lord Bealish?" Sansa spoke moments before his death " 'When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives' and you are not part of the pack"

His dead body was found outside the walls of Winterfell the next morning, both neck and spine broken, his flesh already partially eaten by nocturnal animals. It was deemed a brutal accident no one could foresee.

 

At dusk Jon returned on his horse, he was alone with no one by his side. Sansa was already in her chamber wearing her night gown when the horn blew and she saw him through the window, battered and exhausted.

She had not seen him or heard of him for six moons, feigning to have forgotten about him, yet the second she got a glimpse of him through the gates, she put her coat on and ran towards him, convinced he would greet her and show contentment in seeing his sister.

He greeted everyone in Winterfell. Arya and Bran finally reunited with him, the long hug and tears streaming down their faces, the joy and surprise to be in each other’s arms reminded her of the day she had arrived at Castle Black when for the first time she had shared an emotional, overwhelming moment with Jon. He was visibly injured,but he did not leave Arya and Bran for a second, the joy to be with his own family overcame all the physical pain he had been enduring for days.

Her heart clenched at the marvelous sight, the pack were finally reunited, the monster by her side and in her mind slain.Yet her heart was on its path to crumble and turn into dust, as though Jon Snow had mastered the power to weaken her body, mind and soul until nothing of her was left; as though Jon Snow had taken her mask of steel and tossed it away leaving her fragile at his own mercy. Jon Snow made her weak. yet he made her feel alive again, he made her heart beat faster, he made fire burn inside her and most importantly, he gave her what she had lost hope for - the desire to love and be happy again.

His return to her though was loveless and cold. He avoided her at all costs, only a single glance thrown at her, a steely glance she could not decipher but that hurt more than anything; his detachment colder than the harsh winter that had been cast upon them those moons ago, the breeze in her bones due to the wintry weather was naught compared to Jon’s indifference and lack of regard for her. She had lost him forever, she had lost her brother. She had lost the man who loved her and was ready to give her everything, in spite of their slim chances to be able to love one another at daylight.

 

They did not speak that night, she was willing to give him space and time to get acquainted again with Arya and Bran, to get accustomed again to their home, but she couldn’t last too long. She needed to tell him the truth about that morning in the Godswood, he had the right to know what she had been conjuring up and why she had to lie.

The next day, despite his wounds, he held a first council meeting to apprise of his encounter with the Dragon Queen and of his wight hunt to guarantee her proof of the existence of the white walkers. Sansa sat next to him on his left, carefully listening to the news of this Targaryen Queen who had crossed the Narrow Sea with a Dothraki horde prompt to assault Westeros and take the Iron Throne, which, according to her, was hers by birth right. She did not speak, only listened to his words and assimilated the new information to discuss about it in private with him in proper time.

The same afternoon she ventured anew in the Godsgood, where she found Jon seated under the weirwood tree, cleaning Longclaw with cloth dipped in black waters as he was awaiting her.

“So Podrick delivered my note to you” it was a statement other than a question “I thought you wouldn’t come”

Jon lifted his eyes to look at her still yards across from him “I'm here as you asked of me”

she stepped closer “It was the only way to get you alone. You've been avoiding me since your return” her voice so feeble, it reminded him of a trembling leaf

“we…we haven’t separated in good terms. We used to fight a lot, but this time...this it was different, at least for me” he admitted

“I’m sorry, Jon” she had to say more than an apology, she had tons to tell him, yet words missed in her mouth

“did you kill him?” he asked. He had heard of Lord Baelish’s sudden death due to a fatal accident, but he knew from the beginning Sansa was behind it

“Arya and I did it. I led him on. But worst of all, I led you on to make sure my plan would play out as I concocted” she lowered her eyes to avoid his reaction to such deplorable admission

“you always intended to kill him and you didn’t want me around” he was smart enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together

“to protect you. If I had told you what I really felt…what I feel, you would have stayed and I couldn’t risk that. I’m sorry I lied to you, can you forgive me?” she pleaded for his forgiveness, for it was all she wanted

“There’s nothing to forgive” she remembered the last time he had told her those words, he was happy and smiling with her. Now, he was stoic and visibly repressing his anger “you did what was best for Winterfell, for our family, for yourself”

“For you" she raised her head again, to look at him once again "the lie I told you, it was for you and only you. He would have played with you, he had understood before us our own feelings” she drew closer to him, almost nullifying the distance between them

“It doesn’t matter, Sansa. What is done is done, he’s dead now, I have the support I needed and soon enough we’re going into war” he was still hurt. Despite Sansa's own admission, Jon still sensed that pang in his heart when she had dismissed him under that same heart tree

“it matters. To me, at least, it matters. I’ve said things I didn’t mean”

“I can’t, Sansa. Not now” he sighed in frustration

“why?” she asked as tears were already forming in her eyes

He averted his gaze “the war is coming, Arya and Bran are finally in Winterfell. I can’t…”

“Has something happened? have you feelings for me changed? while you were gone, there were rumors of you and the Targaryen Queen being…very intimate”

“nothing happened” he stood up a few inches away from her “She did try to make our arrangement more intimate, but I didn’t fall for her”

She closed her eyes and sighed in relief “you were in my mind every single day that passed, I couldn’t sleep with any other woman, how could I?” his pained eyes gazing into hers “I love you. I love you, Sansa. But it is not my right to love you and it will never be, we have to let it go”

She was finally gaining more from him, more words, more feelings “I refuse because you have every right to love me as much as I have every right to love you. No one will stand in our way”

“You’re my sister! I cannot love my own sister! I was a fool in the Godswood that morning, I should have known better. It sickens me that I can only love MY SISTER. I’m disgusted by myself and by my impure thoughts about you” he shouted at her

“I am not your sister” she whispered

He took a step back, unprepared by this unexpected revelation “what are you saying?”

“You’re not my brother” she slightly smiled for it was the first time she was saying it out loud

“yes, I am”

“No. When Bran came back to Winterfell, he brought news about you and your mother”

He gulped, his eyes wide open “He wanted to wait to tell you, when you’d settle everything, but I cannot wait. You’re the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, You’re my cousin”

He didn’t speak, nor flinch, almost out of breath, as he stared down at the snow below his feet. He was in a state of shock, she couldn’t blame him, it was a heavy news to deliver by herself, let alone being the one to receive the news about his own parentage.

“You’re not my sister?” out of this news, he should think about his mother, Lyanna Stark, the mother he always had dreamed about. His mother, Lyanna of House Stark.

But it didn’t matter. Not when the woman he loved and lusted for was now a cousin he could be with. A cousin he could marry.

“I’m not. I’m your cousin”

“my cousin” he repeated to himself looking into the void

“Jon? I know you must have questions and Bran...."

“It’s enough” he stated

“enough for what?”

He smiled. One of those smiles he directed at her when they were alone together. Those smiles reserved only to her.

He stepped towards her, took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, fiercely, possessively, breathlessly “for this” he moaned “you want it, right?”

she nodded “I’ve always wanted you. Always loved you” he ran his lips along her jawline, her neck “I always need you, I missed you so much, cousin” she giggled at herself, for the words she blabbered about

He detached his lips from her body and bore his eyes into hers “Cousin” his smile grew wider “and you love me”

“I do. So much”

They kissed for as long as they were allowed under the snow falling over their heads. He wished he could have her there, in that moment, under the heart tree and be damned the Old Gods. His love for this woman were greater than any God, any King or Queen that ever walked earth. It was all-consuming, intoxicating, inebriating; she had taken his heart and made it hers, she could wear it like a plaything for her own use.

“I want you to take me and make me yours, Jon” she moaned among those devouring kisses

He smirked “it’s too cold, we’re going to freeze to death. Tonight, in your chamber” he daintily caressed her hair and leant his forehead against hers “what do you say?”

She paused for a few seconds, then looked at him “No”

“Sansa…” he said before she shoved him back against the rock he was seated upon before

“shut up, Jon and sit” Sansa didn’t want to lose that moment, the precise moment she felt her senses aroused, that inner longing that only tickled her when Jon was around her.She wasn’t ordinarily used to that sensation between her thighs, it was new and different than anything she’s ever felt in her life.

His fur coat was already open and much to Sansa's pleasure, he wasn’t wearing his usual armor, for which she thanked him “unlace your breeches”

He did as instructed and as soon as he unlaced them she was straddling him. His cock wasn’t even able to feel the winter’s freezing cold, that it was immediately replaced by her warm thighs “You didn’t wear your smallclothes” he realized “Sansa..”

“I said shut up. I’ve been used to much worse than a bit of cold between my thighs”

he chuckled “a bit of col…ahhh” She lowered her hand under her skirt and laid her fingers around his cock, placing it between her wet folds “Gods Sansa”

He barely groaned when she slowly sank down on him, she stilled, deeply breathed as she locked eyes with him while her arms wrapped around his neck. It was an intense moment she inherently decided to relish without moving any further. That single gesture of having a man inside her no longer meant pain, no longer meant giving herself strength to survive that very act. It was pleasure, rapture; it was the fulfillment of lust she used to consider unknown, but that now was the only thing she was sure of.

She moved slowly, adjusting herself around him and getting accustomed to her new position. His mouth left agape at this new sensation. He hadn’t laid with anyone for a very long time until her, until Sansa fitted him like a glove, squeezed him with her juicy cunt and made sure he would ever only be hers, there in the Godswood, the place that had only reminded him of the pain inflicted by the same woman that now was enclosing him tight and giving herself to him completely.

He put his hands on her waist and followed her pace as she bounced up and down on him; they weren’t freezing anymore, for they were in the midst of the heat of their building orgasms. Her hands ran up on his curls, kneading his hair without unlocking her eyes from his; they were one, they were pledging allegiance to one another in front of the Old Gods. Be damn the trivial societal conventions, they were professing their love and utter devotion to one another in the most primal way in one of the most sacred places in Winterfell.

“Promise me you will never lie to me again, Sansa” he panted as he encouraged her with his fingers to hasten the pace

“I promise, Jon. I’m yours, only yours” her thighs tightening along his legs as she felt a spasm running through her inner walls. She felt it, the peak she never had in her life, she left it building up in her, on the verge to explode. And she did, she bursted around him, more than one spasm enveloping his cock with her juice, she had never felt that way, never imagined possible to be so safe with a man’s cock dipped into her and to feel exhilarated and overjoyed as she sank down on him one last time and felt his seed spurt deep inside her.

“and I’m yours, Sansa. Yours, forever, till the day I die” he whispered before kissing her again “but next time, I wanna taste you on our bed”

“our bed?”

“our bed” he smiled “I want you to know what it is like to be worshipped under the furs of our bed, I want you to know what it feels like to make love and not be afraid to be hurt. I will kiss every scar on your body with love and devotion. You will never know what it is like to suffer. Ever”

She stared down at him in pure awe “you’ve already done that”

“not enough, my love. Not enough" for he knew Sansa deserved so much more, and much more he was going to give her


End file.
